Last Rite
by jbae654
Summary: One-Shot / Sneak peak into an AU I'm working on. Vegeta is the King of the Saiyans and Bulma watches him and their son partake in an ancient ritual to honor the fromer King, Vegetas father.


She watched in fascination as hundreds of thousands of white gold tipped boots swept over the dry red ground of the desert, kicking up dust and coloring the air in a blood red mist the same impossible and intense color of the sky. The drums they played so deep in their vibrations that they seemed to shake the very particles that composed her own mortal body, vibrating on a frequency so powerful and ancient that it seemed to connect to her very soul. Their voices joining in an every rising deep celebratory rhythm that foretold their journey to the stars, the very stars to which one of them was about to return.

Admits all of it was the very man she loved, his body seemingly following the beat and rhythm of the almost folk like music on its own accord. She wasn't sure it could be called dancing, Saiyans did not dance - Vegeta especially - but the way their upper bodies were slightly bent at the waist, hands never raised above their heads, feet sweeping over the ground in a never-ending rhythmic pattern while the progression moved further along towards their destination reminded her of an ancient dance. The mountain of Kings, final resting place of any King of Vegeta-sei, that is before the Ki-toches would set fire to his mortal remains, allowing his soul to return to the very stars that made him.

They had grown in numbers, once a Kingdom now an intergalactic empire bursting at its seams, prosperity, and wealth only rivaled by the brutality it took to attain this Elysium of a race and world. He had built this empire, had risen from the depths of imposed slavery his father had tossed him into, and taken his people to a new dawn of freedom and wealth. Achieving more than any human could ever hope to gain or even witness in two lifetimes, and despite all the bad blood that existed between him and his sire Bulma now watched in a trance as he partook in a burial ritual as ancient as time itself. Singing words in a language so deep and guttural, and powerful that it shook even those unfamiliar with the Saiyan language, its many Gods, an ancient belief system, that had somehow survived the many hundreds of thousands of years of Saiyan history, progress and devastating wars.

Telling the stories of their forefathers who dreamed of conquering the very stars from which they believed to be born and to which they believed every Saiyan needed to return. Millenias later they had not only conquered the stars but spread out among them and overthrown anyone in their way. During all these struggles they had gained technological advances, wealth, and knowledge many races could only dream to ever compile or have at their disposal in the history of their existence.

Yet on this very day, hordes of thousands of them had flocked to the hilly desert with its red dusty ground, far away from the towering cities they had built, honoring and celebrating the very King - that once had almost cost them everything - in the same fashion, their forefathers used to countless years ago. Bad blood had been an understatement when describing the situation and relationship between the former King and his people, many had demanded hard punishment, resentment had run high and there had been times when she had outright feared Vegeta would kill his own father after his discovery only some sun cycles prior.

An honorable death was everything, the burial almost as important as the very way in which a life was lost, the transition from the mortal realm back to the stars was a celebration unlike anything she had ever seen before, the drums, the dancing, the singing, the people all engulfed in the dusty red ground whirling in the air, carried by the vibrations of their drums.

Her heart was heavy with the realization that she was a spectator, to most of them and their most primeval rituals she would always be a foreigner. Nevermind the son she shared with their very King, a King that was the embodiment of all their beliefs and values, rivaled only by their plentiful gods. Vegeta was covered in dirt the color of fire, dancing beside the son she had given him years ago, a carbon copy of his father and the sole heir to all of Vegetas hard labor and struggles. His usually dark upswept mane now a deep auburn, white boots so red as if he had waded through a river of blood, smudges of soil on his cheeks and suddenly he was even more breathtaking than when he was the clean cut Saiyan King and Emporer of millions of planets. Singing about his forefathers and the Saiyans destiny to rule, words in a language so ancient and sacred that it had been denied even for her to acquire.

The drums picked up their pace, the voices of the crowd swelling in their deep volume, the overlapping of verses making the meaning of their very words impossible to understand, yet establishing a connection that resonated in the very soul of everyone witnessing the awe-inspiring last rite of a former King.

So she stood, among towering Saiyans, amidst the red air and ground, in a desert valley, preparing for their ascension to the mountain of Kings, letting the sounds as old as time itself carrier her in the soft sway of the crowd, never losing sight of the very man that had come into her life so many years ago and submerged her into this culture that progressed with every single day and yet remained the very same as the day the first Saiyans dreamed of crossing the vastness of the stars to new worlds.


End file.
